Thank You for Taking Your Kid to Church

You didn't do it to make me happy.  You don't even know me.

You did it because you love Jesus.
And because you love your kid.

But here's the thing.  You took your children to church, even when they were little and it was hard.  You taught them Bible verses and the catechism and hymns.  Now your child is all grown up.  He moved away from home. 

This Sunday somebody's child and her husband were visiting our church.  After communing, she returned to her pew, singing the hymn, even without her hymnal. 

Or there was the time somebody else's child showed up at our church.  He showed up every Sunday, driving an hour to get here.  He knows the liturgy.  He knows the hymns.  He wants to join the congregation.  People wonder, "Where did he come from?" as if it's not quite normal to find 20-somethings rejoicing to come for worship, and having learned those precious words by heart. 

Hey, maybe it's not normal.  But it is good.
And it is encouraging to us old folks.

Psalm 78: Telling to the generation to come the praises of the Lord,
And His strength and His wonderful works that He has done.

Matthew 16:  I will build My church, and the gates of Hades shall not prevail against it.

Kid's Choice: Mom-at-Home or Mom-at-Work

The story comes from many different families.  Kid says, "Mommy, don't go to work today.  Stay home with me."  Mommy says, "Well, I could quit my job and stay home with you.  But if I do, then we don't have money to buy the things you like.  Don't you like going to the go-kart track?  Don't you like going out for pizza?  Don't you like the toys we buy and the Buzz Lightyear sweatshirt you chose last week?  If I didn't have a job, I wouldn't have money to buy those things."  Kid thinks a bit.  Kid says, "Go to work, Mommy."

People laugh.
People think it's so cute.

I would be embarrassed to announce proudly that my kid would prefer material stuff from me than my company.  (That is, assuming that Mom's income is not buying necessities such as rent, groceries, and medicine.) 

My question:  WHY does a kid answer, "Go to work, Mommy"?  Because the child is accustomed to day-care, does he see only the loss of stuff and not the gain of his parents' attention?  Is it that the child naturally prefers indulgences to being with parents?  (I suspect not but may be wrong.)  Has the child learned that the parents think the toys and outings are a higher priority than copious time together as a family? 

A Jealous God

Jealousy is bad, right?  It's like envy.  It means you're unhappy that somebody else has something you want, or that you might lose what you have -- whether it's stuff or a position or a relationship.

So when God says, "I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God," we see that as a flaw.

Sometimes people think God has an ego problem:  "Hey, don't worship anybody else.  I'm the Big Cheese here, and I want your praise and your accolades."

Sometimes people think God gets hacked off when we don't honor him as we should.  It must hurt His feelings, they think.  Why can't He get over His pettiness, they think.



If you're a parent, you know the terror-of-heart as your beloved child runs toward the busy street.  Or embarks upon some other stupid stunt that's quite likely to endanger him.  If you're not a parent, you probably remember your own confusion after you did something idiotic as a kid.  "Why are you so mad at me, Mom??!  You're glad I didn't get hurt, but you're mad too."



The Lord is jealous.  And it's not about His ego or His feelings.  It's because what hurts Him most is when we insist on harming ourselves.  He loves.  He cares.  He gives.  And when we run off into the busy street, when we run off into danger, it grieves Him.  Not because it damages Him.  But because it hurts us.  And that is why He is "a jealous God."  It's for our protection, for our benefit.  Not for His.

He is the source of life.  When we leave Him, we turn our back on life, and the only thing left is death.  That's why He's jealous for us: He wants us to have life, and have it abundantly.

Defined by Your Job?

A job is a significant part of our lives.  It is where we spend most of our waking hours.  It is a place where we meet people and form cooperative relationships.  It is a place where we can be part of a team, working with others for a common purpose.  It is a place where we form friendships and social networks.  It is an opportunity, hopefully, to identify with a respected organization and its contribution to the community.  Many of us define ourselves by our careers.  A job or career is a source of self-esteem, extrinsic and intrinsic reward, and independence.  A job is the most visible and definitive way one take his or her rightful place in the community.

The Complete Guide to Creating 

a Special Needs Life Plan, p 109

by Hal Wright

So much of this assertion is true.

And yet, I find it disturbing that JOB (not family and not what happens at church) is taken for granted as what defines us.  No wonder stay-at-home moms have "no worth" in the eyes of American society.

"It Hurts When You Brush My Hair"

I hereby publicly apologize to my daughters when I told them emphatically, "NO, it does NOT."

When your scalp is not used to being brushed,
when your hair is not very long,
those bristles may indeed hurt a person's head.

On the one hand, I'm glad to know this.  Hee hee hee -- it means I have hair long enough to need brushing --  y'know, just so that it doesn't stand up in spikes and make look all punk-rock.

On the other hand, as I hauled out the brush and began to smooth down the spikes, my first thought was, "Oh man!  The girls were right.  This does hurt." 

Oh, the heartlessness of mothers...

Empty Nesting

I miss Andrew.

No, I'm not sitting around pining for him, wishing he hadn't gotten married and moved out.  By "missing him" I mean that I keep forgetting that he doesn't live here.

We're ready to go to bed.  It's a night Andrew is scheduled to work.  Better unlock the porch door and turn on the light so that he can come through the door easily in half an hour, after we're asleep.  Whoops -- no! -- he's not coming home here.

Last Tuesday morning, only two leftover sandwiches remained from the wedding.  Maggie asks, "Mom, shall I leave one of these for your lunch?"  "No, I had one for breakfast already.  But you shouldn't eat them both.  Leave one for your brother."  "Uh, Mom ... he doesn't live here any more.  He's not going to be around to eat the sandwich."  Oh.  Yes.  That would be true.  Hmm.

I need an errand run (and I am still on the post-seizure driving-ban).  That's okay: I can ask Andrew to pick something up for me later in the day.  Oops.  Wait.  He's not here running his own errands and thus able to slip in an extra stop for me. 

I awake in the morning and see that Maggie's bedroom door is standing wide open.  Her bed is neatly made.  Andrew's bedroom door is closed; he must still be asleep.  I can't find Maggie anywhere in the house.  Eventually I realize that Andrew's bedroom is now Maggie's bedroom, and she is still in bed, behind that closed door.

How long until I stop being surprised that Andrew doesn't live here any more?

And by the way, do you realize how little food 

is required for only three people?  Freeeaky!! 
How little cooking; how few dishes; how little 
laundry?  It seems unreal.

Personality Trumps Character

James Davison Hunter, in The Death of Character: Moral Education in an Age Without Good or Evil

We say we want a renewal of character in our day but don't really know what we ask for.  To have a renewal of character is to have a renewal of a creedal order that constrains, limits, binds, obligates, and compels.  This price is too high for us to pay.  We want character but without conviction; we want strong morality but without the emotional burden of guilt or shame; we want virtue but without particular moral justifications that invariably offend; we want good without having to name evil; we want decency without the authority to insist upon it; we want moral community without any limitations to personal freedom.  In short, we want what we cannot possibly have on the terms that we want it.  (Found in "A Continual Feast" by Jan Karon)

Funny how I ran across this quote shortly after reading the first chapter of Quiet.

"Blessed Are the Barren"

Luke 23: The days are coming in which they will say, "Blessed are the barren, wombs which never bore, and breasts which never nursed." 

I had always thought that was, well, you know, something the Bible said.  But it's not.  It's just something Jesus reports that "they" say.  Duh -- how come I never saw it until Pastor pointed it out today?  That's something the unbelievers say.  Not Christians.  And certainly not something God says. 

"Better to not have babies" is the response of the hopeless and the despairing.

Keep on Praying

A slight twist on Dory's song:
Just keep praying.
Just keep praying.
Just keep praying praying praying.
What do we do?  We pray pray pray.

(I hope Nemo doesn't mind the tweaking.)

Pastor likes to make the point that the story of "The Friend at Midnight" (Luke 11) is NOT comparing God to the neighbor who doesn't want to hand over the bread.  It's contrasting God with that fellow.  The neighbor didn't love the demanding guy who was banging on his door, but God DOES love us.  How much easier it is to ask (and ask and ask) somebody who loves us and cares about us and has made promises to us!!

But [she wondered] if I really believed that God would give what I need, then why should I keep pestering him about it?  After all, I could pray once, and then just trust Him to do what is good and right, and not keep asking (and asking and asking).  So is my persistent prayer due to my lack of faith???

Pastor said no.

He said a mother would know what it is like to have children talk to them.  Don't parents delight when their children talk?  Isn't that what parents want?  Isn't it great to know that they trust you and enjoy talking to you?  Don't we love to hear their stories and their discoveries and their thoughts and their feelings?

Yeah.  We do.

(Now, hang on just a minute.  I know some of y'all are at the stage with kiddoes that you're thinking, "Uh ... uh ... well, uh ... sometimes I'm not so sure I delight in that.  Sometimes I kinda sorta want to lock myself in the bathroom to hide from it...."  Okay, let me put it this way:  If one of your kids stopped talking to you someday, your heart would break.  And you would miss him.  And you'd have no way to pour out your love to him.  And you'd rejoice when there is some small chance to talk again.  So yeah, you young moms, tired though you may be, hiding in the bathroom though you may be, you do TOO love hearing your kids talk.  It may not always be apparent to you, but deep-down you treasure it.  Trust me on this.)

So, yeah.  I guess I can "just keep praying praying praying."  And it's okay.  It's not annoying God.

Quite the contrary.

Stuff

1. My son-in-law Nathan underwent surgery on his ankle yesterday. He fell on ice in the parking lot, resulting in two fractures in his joint as well as messing up his tendon. (Or was it ligament?  I can never keep those two straight.)  No walking for ten weeks. No driving either, as it's his right foot.

2. I waited too long to go to the theatre. I wanted SO badly to see Les Miserables. All my friends told me how fabulous it was. I have freebie tickets hanging on the bulletin board, with precious little in the theatre I have any interest in seeing. I figured I could happily go see Les Mis more than once. But recent events have prevented a trip out to indulge myself. Today I tried finding a theatre that was still showing it. No go. Bummers.

3. Next Sunday we'll be singing "In Thee Alone, O Christ, My Lord" and Gerhardt's "I Will Sing My Maker's Praises." Ah! I will spend all week looking forward to it!!!  (Is that too weird, that superb hymns bring so much relief and joy?)

4. I was chatting yesterday with a co-worker (who's majoring in psychology and Japanese) about the difference in my granddaughters. At age 4, Alia has very little ability to put herself in another's shoes. That's really not abnormal; she's young. But at age 1 1/2 Zoe was already watching out for others, trying to console sad people, and showing compassion.  My co-worker said that's highly unusual (and it is); she said kids don't start learning that until age 8 or so.  Age 8?  Hmm.  That's not what I see.  I wonder if it makes a difference if they are baptized Christians, united with the One who is mercy?

5.  I finally started watching Downton Abbey.  Oh. my. goodness.  It's so good!!!

Sad Children

As I was checking out of the grocery store today, a woman was sitting nearby, holding a sobbing child.  A couple of people inquired if there were anything they could do to help, but the response was a gentle and caring "Thank you, but she's just having a bad day."  I assumed the little girl was having a tantrum because mom didn't buy the cookies she wanted, or it was getting to be naptime and the child was having a meltdown.  You know -- nothing to be concerned about.  Something that all parents cope with.

By the time my groceries were loaded into the car and I'd returned my cart, the sniffling preschooler and the woman were walking out to their car parked next to mine.  Turns out the child wanted her mommy!  And the woman was assuring her that she'd "see Mommy after she's done working." 

We think it's normal and acceptable for mommies to leave their children to go to work.  Yes, sometimes it's necessary.  But the child's tears should teach us something.

Offering to Help

As my mom's health began taking a turn for the worse last year, she mentioned one of her regrets.  She says she wished she'd done more things to help her parents as they got older.  At the time, Mom heeded the advice of the social workers and the nurses and the therapists, who all say not to do things to help an elderly or disabled person, if that person is capable of doing the job for himself. 

This makes sense.  Right?  If we cater to a toddler, that child will expect to be waited on.  That child will not grasp for independence.  We will thwart the child's motivation to "Do It Myself!" when we overhelp.  So would it not be the same for a person who's had a stroke or other health impairment?  Are not those multitudes of little, daily tasks sort of like "therapy" practice?

And yet, how much frustration do we allow to crowd in on a person's life?

When we're raising our kids, there's a question we continually bump into:  "Is he ready for this?"  Is Joey wetting his pants because he's not developmentally capable of using the potty, or is he just being stubborn about peeing in his diaper?  Is Susie refusing to stay in her bed at night because she truly needs company and comfort, or is she just being manipulative of her parents?  When your homeschooled 9-yr-old cannot read and cannot memorize his times-tables, is it because he's a lazy so-and-so (and will not do the work), or because he's a late-bloomer (and cannot do the work)? 

But that question doesn't go away when the kids grow up!

We end up with sore muscles.  Do we keep up that exercise regimen we just started?  Or do we give the sore body a rest to recuperate?

Do we give help to the neighbor who's struggling to return the grocery cart to the cart-corral?  Or do we let the man do it himself, as it is his day's exercise? 

Do we help a teenager straighten out the jumbled words coming from a brain that struggles with auditory processing?  Or do we leave her on her own to figure out why we don't understand her question?

I am capable of coming into the kitchen while carrying a bushel of tomatoes.   But I am glad when someone opens the door for me.  Just because I could do it, doesn't mean they should let me.  Or make me.  It's polite to offer help.  It's kind.  It's a courtesy that we should offer to one another.

Those of us who teach children have watched as our students reach the saturation point in their learning.  A fourth-grader wants to read a book for fun that's easy enough for second-graders. Isn't that okay?  Or do we make him read up to his ability level all the time?  A teacher lectures, but must give the students an occasional break to get out of their seats, walk around, chat for a couple of minutes, etc.  When our brains are taxed by new concepts, or hard skills or ideas, we may need a short break.  We need time for the new information and new skills to gel, to settle, to become part of us and our thinking.  That goes for post-stroke therapy, or learning to walk again after an accident.




It keeps coming back to "I can't" versus "I won't."  When someone can't, we respond very differently from when they won't. 

But how do you know which it is?

The Mini-MoPed Girl

Dear Neighbor,

I understand.  And I agree that most people are over-protective of children.  I understand that your 7-yr-old daughter is having a grand time zipping around the neighborhood in her new toy.  I understand that it's good for her to play outside instead of being zoned out in front of a television or video game.  I understand that a little freedom is important to her development.

But I have news for you.  A helmet is not enough protection for a child who is operating a motorized vehicle.  On public streets.  At 15-20 miles per hour. 

I assume your child does not have a license to operate.  After all, she's half the minimum driving age.  And her inability to notice oncoming traffic or to stop-&-look at intersections tells me that she'd fail a driving test if she were old enough to apply for a license.

I'm sure you are blissfully ignorant of how many close calls your daughter has had.  I doubt she realizes the close calls either.  Luckily the cars that she has come close to smashing into have seen her first, stopped, and sat still, waiting, while your daughter narrowly missed damaging their vehicles. And she goes on her merry way, unrattled.

I hope we can figure out who you are and where you live before the day the ambulance arrives.  I'd rather talk to you sooner instead of later.

Susan

Wrath of God

Even though we are sinners, parents know the conflicting feelings when kids do things to hurt themselves.  Maybe the child wandered off and got lost at Target.  Maybe the preschooler ran into the busy street.  Maybe the toddler reached out to put her hand on the red-hot burner on the electric stove.   Maybe the teenager fell in with the wrong crowd and is hanging out where crimes are committed.  The parents love the child.  The parents want to protect the child.  Mixed in with all this love and protection is some anger.  It's not sinful anger (although it's certainly possible for sinful anger to be mixed in too).  There is justified, righteous anger that the one you love --more than you love yourself-- is hurting himself.

Being angry does NOT mean the parents don't love.  Quite the opposite.  If the parents didn't love so profoundly, there wouldn't be anger. 

I spent decades confused by what it is to "fear, love, and trust" in God.  But when I experienced what it is to fear, love, and trust a person, I began to understand how those are not conflicting verbs.  Now I'm beginning to see, in the same way, that the experience of motherhood helps me have an inkling of how wrath and love co-exist.

Psalm 85 tells us that
the Lord has forgiven the iniquity of His people. 
He has covered all their sin. 
He has taken away all His wrath. 
He has turned from the fierceness of His anger.   

If He has "taken away all His wrath," that means there was wrath.  The forgiveness of sin took away His wrath toward us.  But it was there, and something caused it to cease. 

I suppose it's not reasonable to think that a loving God could be wrathful.  But there are lots of things the Bible says that our puny, reasonable minds cannot comprehend: the trinity and the incarnation for starters.  We don't jettison the clear words of Scripture just because our finite reason cannot understand.

Can You Punish AND Forgive?

Somehow I always had the idea that forgiveness meant that you wouldn't be punished.  "I forgive you" meant that you wouldn't have to stay after school, or wouldn't have to pay for the broken window, or wouldn't have to go to jail.

I don't think I'm the only one with that idea.

After all, look at the judicial system.  Listen to the media.  The criminal is really really sorry for what he did.  Because he's sorry, that means he should be forgiven.  And of course, "forgiveness" means that he won't have to be incarcerated.  Right?  Wrong.

We tend to do the same thing with kids.  How often have you heard parents say, "But I can't spank him now.  He said he was sorry, and I forgave him!" 

First problem with that is that you'll raise a brat who learns to lie about Being Sorry. 

Second problem is that a kid learns that punishment means he's not forgiven.  Oooh.  Ick.  Do we want to teach that lesson?  Heck, no.  But when we [as a society or as parents or as teachers] do refrain from punishing a kid who's truly sorry, what happens to that same kid when punishments come later, at another time?  Does that mean Daddy doesn't forgive me this time? 

And worse, do we conclude that when bad stuff happens, it means that God doesn't forgive?

Attachment Parenting

There was no such term when my kids were little.

But it explains what I did.  And it also explains why I was so different from other friends with whom I shared so much in common.  At the time, I didn't know how to explain it.  Sometimes I would say, "But I like my kids."  However, that implied other people didn't, and that's not true. 

We rarely got babysitters.  I missed the kids when they went to visit Grandma.  I nursed "too long."  I often kept the baby in bed with us overnight.  I had a sling to carry the babies, but more commonly carried them in my arms without the sling.  We homeschooled, so they didn't have to "face reality."   We were told repeatedly that the apron strings were too tight, that the kids would never grow up, that we were training them to become dependent upon us, that they would never able to function without mommy and daddy helping them.

HA!  Look at 'em now, all grown up.   Definitely not dependent.

Rachel told me the other day that I was a "hippie mother."  I want to ask if hippies come in a conservative variety.  And yet, I did wear the Birkenstocks.

One of the Best Articles I've Seen on Raising Kids

Don't let the website address for this article put you off. It's a very long article, but it addresses a common struggle -- especially among homeschoolers. How do parents balance their training of a child with their unconditional love for the child? And does the message of that unconditional love of the parents actually get through to the kid?

The same problem pops up frequently in information put out for parents of special needs kids. The social workers and nurses keep telling the parents to love their child, not to treat them according to their disability. And yet, everything you run into from doctors and therapists and teachers is that the child is a project. A project to be conquered, to be tweaked, to be perfected insofar as can be done. But the child isn't a project. The child is a person. A person made in the image of God. A person who has strengths and weaknesses, joys and sorrows, just like all the rest of us.

The article isn't perfect. But the author is at least heading in the right direction.

Me? Stranger Danger?

I understand that I was more into free-range parenting than most other parents I knew. I also understand that, in the past 25 years, society has leaned much further in the direction of Protecting Children At All Costs. But, really, now, c'mon....

For the last two days, I have spent copious hours in the garden, catching up on weeding and tilling that hadn't been done properly since last spring last year. I had kids out there helping me for a good part of the time. The next-door-neighbor kids have a babysitter who's been around for over a year. If I remember correctly, Katie has even taken Alia over to play with those kids and chatted with the sitter.

So I'm sitting in the dirt, trying to separate the Creeping Charley and the grass from my perennial onions. The 3-yr-old girl next door comes over to chat a bit. She's done that several times on weekends when her daddy is working in the yard. But today the babysitter is there. The babysitter called the girl back to the patio. Eventually, the girl wandered back in my direction; she was interested in what I was up to; she wanted to ask about my strawberry patch; she was having a hard time understanding that today I was working on the onions and not the strawberries. Please imagine the picture. The girl is in her own yard, and I am in mine. She is nowhere within my reach -- never closer than 10-15 feet away from me. I am sitting, not standing; I can't bolt over to grab her. We are both in full view of the sitter, only about 40-50 feet from her. We are far enough apart that we have to raise our voices to be heard by each other.

But still, the sitter kept calling the child back to the patio. At one point, I smiled and called to the sitter, "Oh, it's no problem; she's not bothering me!" The sitter ignored my comment: "Come back here and stay on the concrete patio. Don't you go over there!" Pretty soon, the sitter even had interjected herself in the boys' game of catch, rounding up the 6-yr-old and 8-yr-old on the patio, putting herself in the yard where they'd been, stationing herself between me and her charges. She gave them instructions not to go out into the yard.

Wow.

It would make perfect sense to me if the sitter didn't want the kids to follow me into the garage. She doesn't know me well enough to use me for a back-up sitter if an emergency should come up. I understand this. But to keep the kids corralled in a small space outside on a gorgeous day because the neighbor happens to be outside too? Oh dear me.

Walking to School

Jane posted a link to a brief article about being ready for first grade. Thirty years ago, the readiness skills for first grade were similar to today's readiness skills for preschool ... or at least things kids need to know prior to kindergarten. But also on the list of readiness skills from 1979 was that a kid knew how to navigate around his neighborhood (4-8 blocks away from home) on his own. As the commenter put it, that's something today that we're letting eighth-graders try.

Katie tells stories of going to the playground with the girls. She will let 2-yr-old Alia climb up the stairs to the slide. She will let Alia climb the tiny little rock wall at one playground. She lets her swing as high as those short little chains will allow. Alia is doing nothing dangerous. She's engaging in behavior less risky than her parents did, and certainly less risky than her grandparents did. And yet, other mommies are gasping, pointing out to Katie that Alia needs to be rescued, and then being incredulous that Katie is okay with [gasp] Playground Behavior at the playground.

Why do we think this over-protection is in the best interests of children?

A Good Thing About Homeschooling

Our church's school is wonderful. If it had been nearby and available when my kids were little, I would have had a hard time deciding between the benefits of the school versus the different benefits of homeschooling. But I gotta say, there is one awesome thing about homeschooling.

My kids like each other.

I don't know that it was necessarily homeschooling that "did it." I think our living in places where there weren't neighborhood friends available played into the mix. I think not starting out siblinghood with a long absence from Mommy (with the obstetric hospital stay) probably had an effect. I remember my mom commenting, way back when there were only four kids, about how nicely they got along and how little sibling rivalry there was. She said it was probably because they HAD to get along -- who else did they have to play with?? And there's some truth to that. I remember coming down hard on the rare squabbling; I don't know how I did it, but I didn't permit them to not get along.

And they like each other. They choose to spend time with each other. They look forward to seeing each other.

One of the greatest gifts my kids have ever given me is that they like their brothers and sisters! What joy to a mother! Thank you, Rachel, Philip, Katie, Paul, Andrew, and Maggie. You make me happy to be your mom.